Chapter 10…
The carriage’s destination was a white castle. In front of it stood knights, their presence sharp and intimidating at a glance, guarding the place with utmost vigilance.
And yet, none of them dared to lift their gaze toward the carriage. Instead, they all bowed their heads.
“We greet Your Majesty.”
They all spoke in unison. There was no way Rone could not hear that greeting. Nabel had already pulled down the hood of his blue robe, revealing bright golden hair that shone even more brilliantly than sunlight itself.
Rone’s eyes fell on his hair, then drifted downward—to the white gloves that covered his hands.
“Does this displease you?” Nabel tilted his head slightly.
At the title “Your Majesty,” which he did not deny, Rone realized the unbelievable truth.
It wasn’t so much surprising as it was surreal. What had happened in his childhood that led him to become a slave in the Eastern Continent…?
‘Ah.’
Rone’s thoughts quickly pieced together the answer.
The day she had first met Nabel—the day their eyes met in the carriage—that was exactly one hundred days after the Miltan imperial family had seized the throne of this empire.
It was said that they had massacred the golden-haired, fastidious Iber royal family. And yet, Nabel… had survived.
“Nabel Iber.”
At her words, Nabel smiled.
“In this palace, the only one who may call me by that name… is you, Sister.”
He whispered softly. When Rone instinctively covered her mouth in alarm, wondering if that had been rude, Nabel smiled again.
“So please… call me by it more.”
Rone’s eyes widened. Nabel leaned closer to her, smiling as if speaking in a dream.
“I like it… when you call that name.”
The boy’s voice from the past—“I like it”—overlapped with his.
Rone’s cheeks flushed, just faintly.
Screeech!
The fox, Bel, seemed to have regained some of its strength. By the time the carriage rolled deep into the white castle and finally came to a halt, Bel was nestled in Rone’s arms, rubbing affectionately against her.
When the soldiers outside all saluted toward the carriage at once, Bel stiffened in surprise.
“Shall we step out?” Nabel asked.
Not a single pebble marred the ground. This was the inner sanctum of the empire’s royal castle—the very heart of the emperor’s residence—so it was flawless.
Even so, lest their esteemed guests stumble, attendants quickly spread soft cloth beneath their feet. Nabel extended his hand to her.
“There are so many people outside…” Rone hesitated, unable to finish. But even a heartbeat was enough for Nabel to read her heart.
He glanced outward.
“Lower your heads.”
At his command, every head bowed lower still. Nabel looked back at Rone.
“Better?”
His voice, unlike the majestic one from moments ago, reminded her of the boy from her childhood.
She smiled faintly. If they delayed, those waiting outside would only feel more uncomfortable.
“A little better.”
She took his hand. Bel leapt to her head, then settled there.
“This way…” Nabel guided her gently.
They passed between rows of maids and knights standing in strict formation, heading toward the palace.
Screeech…
But Bel, perhaps unsettled by the crowd, slipped back into her shadow. And everyone—maids and knights alike—saw it.
“…!”
Only after the pair had gone by did whispers erupt.
“…A divine beast?”
“No… it can’t be…”
Their eyes widened as they glanced at the shadow, where the faint outlines of pointed ears and a fox’s tail flickered before vanishing.
It truly was a divine beast.
Word spread quickly through the palace.
His Majesty has brought the master of a divine beast.
“This lady is…?”
Head Maid Dia, who had served in the palace for thirty years, was a formidable figure. She had remained even through the Iber dynasty’s fall and their eventual restoration.
When the Miltan family ruled, she had been demoted to a mere maid, accused of loyalty to the Ibérs. But her competence in managing the palace had spared her from execution.
She had even been impressive enough for young Nabel to remember her from his brief stay in the castle as a child.
Thus, when Nabel reclaimed the throne, he immediately reinstated her as head maid, assigning her to oversee the most beautiful and secure palace of all—Palace Rone.
“Welcome, my lady.”
Dia bowed deeply to the guest Nabel had brought.
Her hair was a murky pink—a shade unseen in the Western Continent. An Easterner.
Even so, she bowed. Of course she did—Nabel had brought her. And she remembered his words:
“The mistress of the palace will be arriving. Prepare accordingly.”
“So at last, the mistress of the palace has come.”
Nabel shot her a glance, warning against needless words. But Dia, who remembered his boyhood, simply smiled warmly in return.
“Mistress of the palace?”
Rone turned to Nabel, who gave a sheepish smile, as though a secret diary had been discovered.
“May we ask your name, my lady?” Dia inquired politely.
Rone hesitated. She disliked introducing herself with the family name de Rida. But she answered nonetheless.
“…Rone de Rida.”
The maids around them gasped audibly.
“Please, lower your tone of speech,” one stammered.
They were startled by her polite formality. Rone tilted her head, recognizing in their reaction not mere respect but fear.
At the Rida estate, people had either treated her with hostility or avoided her, frightened by the rumors surrounding her. She knew the look well.
Everyone here was watching… not her, but Nabel.
They feared him. Not just as emperor, the highest rank in the West—but as someone whose displeasure might cost them their heads.
Rone nodded slightly. “Very well.”
Dia’s face brightened with another warm smile.
“I’ve heard much about you. Would you care to rest first?”
Her gaze fell to Rone’s legs, slightly swollen from the long journey.
“We could arrange a massage.”
Just as she offered, Rone’s eyes flicked past Dia—toward the end of the corridor, where various figures peeked nervously.
“…?”
Among them was Knight Nesha—the very one who had once, by ill chance, interrupted her time with Nabel in the Eastern Continent. He was sweating again, desperately avoiding attention.
Why is my timing always this bad lately…?
Others with him clutched stacks of documents, urgent matters awaiting Nabel’s decision.
“….”
Nabel’s cold gaze swept their way. Their faces blanched.
“I’ll just look around the palace a little,” Rone said with a smile.
They seemed so desperate. And after all, Nabel was the emperor. Even if she had yet to fully feel it, the many people seeking his guidance proved it true. He was bound to be busy.
“All right,” she added gently.
Nabel nodded, though reluctantly. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to spend the entire day with her. That was what he had endured ten years for—to win this.
He had reclaimed the throne not out of ambition, but to give her safety.
“…Not safe yet, though.”
His sharp instincts scanned the surroundings, remembering the hostile gazes aimed at her.
“…Then, please stay only within Palace Rone,” he said.
It wasn’t a command, but closer to a plea.
“Why?” she asked, curious.
The people down the hall looked so anxious, arms full of paperwork. Surely he still had much to do.
“…Because outside this palace… it’s still dangerous.” Nabel smiled faintly.
“I’ll settle everything as quickly as I can.”
Rone understood—he hadn’t yet purged the palace of enemies. He seemed different now—no longer the boy she once knew, but a man many depended on, and many plotted against.
If any Miltan loyalists remained…
“I won’t wander far. I’m tired anyway,” she reassured him.
Nabel squeezed her hand lightly, then released it.
“I’ll be back soon. Rest well.”
His gentle voice filled the corridor, warm only for her.
The others didn’t hear it. What they did hear was his other promise:
I’ll settle everything quickly.
Which, in imperial terms, meant blood would be shed.
“I never imagined I would one day serve the master of a divine beast,” Dia said, her expression reverent.
Beside Rone, Lin assisted quietly.
“This oil—we’ve never seen anything like it in the Eastern Continent…” Lin remarked, sweeping away the harsher Western ointments unsuitable for Rone’s delicate skin.
Compared to Westerners, Easterners had more sensitive skin—and Rone’s condition was especially poor. She was so frail that before any massages could begin, the palace physician had to be summoned.
“Hm…”
Domello, the son of the Iber family’s former court physician, examined her and frowned.
“There is not a single part of her body that’s truly well. She must start with porridge, and slowly adapt to Western foods.”
At his words, Dia called for a maid immediately.
“Go tell the head chef at once—prepare porridge for His Majesty’s guest.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The maid hurried off.
“The master of a divine beast requires porridge…” she murmured as she went.
Rone couldn’t ignore it—the word divine beast repeated again and again.
They had seen Bel and called it divine. So unlike the Rida household, who had branded her cursed, a summoner of demons.
Here, they treated her not as accursed—but as sacred.
Rone looked down at Bel.
Master of a divine beast…
Even if Bel truly was divine, what could she—or Bel—really do?
She wasn’t used to such reverence. In the Rida estate, those who briefly treated her as a noble lady quickly abandoned her, whispering of curses.
So this frightened her.
“…Dia,” Rone asked softly.
“Yes, my lady?” The head maid bowed, a faint smile on her lips.
“In the Western Continent… are divine beasts common?”
